Life So Prosaic
by Mrs Mengele
Summary: Slash. SnapeHarry. Snape loses a wager and must read romantic poetry to Potter. Features cross-dressing Harry.


DISCLAIMER: The characters are J.K. Rowling's, and no profit is being made off of them. Male/male theme.  


NOTES: Written for the Slash_Challenge community on livejournal.com. Words in italics blatantly stolen from Bertolt Brecht.   


  
** Life So Prosaic**

  
  
"_My love, has told me -- that he needs me,_" the dark figure of Severus Snape, so alien to bright sunshine in his billowing black robes, elaborated with an air of pompousness to a figure sitting under the shade of a tree near the lake on Hogwarts grounds, gesturing theatrically with his lean and delicate hands. Upon hearing a muffled giggle from beneath him, he adjusted his glare and growled. 

"Really, Potter. Must we continue with this farce?" 

"Oh yes," said Harry, trying his damnedest to suppress a grin while tugging on his chafing Hufflepuff-yellow dress. "A wager is a wager." 

Snape sighed, long and hard, taking a cautious glance around him to assure that no one else was witnessing what was to be, without a doubt, the most humiliating moment of his life. He kneeled down infront of the boy and continued: "_That is why I take good care of myself, watch out where I'm going and_ -- Bloody Hell, boy. Just admit that you cheated on your Potions NEWT!" 

"Did not," smiled the boy-dressed-girl, while bright yellow petals from the sunflower he had placed behind his ear were falling softly on the grass, only to be scattered by a gentle breeze. He hugged a pink bunny defiantly to his chest managing to look all five years old. Snape rolled his eyes. 

"Be that as it may, I still fail to understand why my losing a wager would result," he waved his hand in front of him in an all-encompassing gesture, "in your debasing yourself." 

"Oh, I believe this is much more degrading to you, sir," Harry's eyes twinkled. "Besides, I quite like the dress." 

Snape could not suppress a snort. Harry's eyes took on a harder edge. "You may continue wooing, now." 

"Oh, for heaven's sake..." 

"Woo-_ing._" 

Snape closed his eyes briefly, damning his whole existence once more for getting himself into this mess. Sitting down under the tree he resolved not to even think about how utterly delectable and infinitely debauched the little brat looked dressed in innocence, covered by just the thinnest layer of silky cloth -- if still far too ridiculous for his tastes. 

"What other foolish displays did you have planned?" 

"Um," Harry put up a grotesque pretense of pensiveness while Snape was fairly certain that the boy had never entertained a thought in his pretty little head -- at least not anything worth commendation. He fought back another snort at the absurd sight. 

"Strawberries!" decided Harry finally. "We could eat strawberries." 

"How unfortunate that we neglected to bring any," drawled Snape. 

Harry reached into the folds of his dress and drew out his wand. "Not to worry, I think we can manage something." 

Blinking thrice from dumb disbelief, Snape watched a far too cheerful Harry transfigure his bunny into a bowl full of big, luscious red fruits on a bed of whipped cream. Unnerved, he blanched as he found himself on the receiving end of a rather predatory teenage smile. 

But if Harry had noticed he gave no sign of it, instead leaning back on the tree behind him he started munching on one of the strawberries, not even attempting to make Snape feed them to him -- Harry was no fool, and certainly not suicidal. Sighing rather contently he gazed up to the sky. "Did you know that a cloud shaped like a cross is supposed to be a bad omen?" 

Snape considered the boy and his history for a while. When he spoke his voice seemed several octaves lower, softer somehow. "Have you ever seen such a cloud?" 

"Um, no" Harry blushed slightly. "But can you see that one," he asked, pointing languidly heavenwards. "It kind of looks like an anchor." 

Snape cocked an amused eyebrow. "And do you see those heavy clouds in the horizon? Do you know what they foretell?" 

"Um..." 

"Eloquent as ever, Potter," Snape smirked. "They foretell of rain in our immediate future. We should relocate." 

"Don't wanna," Harry shifted, now laying sprawled on the grass leaning on one hand, nibbling on a strawberry. For some reason Snape found himself observing the brewing storm as reflected in the depths of the young man's green eyes. Without any conscious initiative his hand reached out tentatively, fingers brushing against Harry's full, fruit-reddened lips that curved into a smile in response. Suddenly finding the romantic drivel from before entirely too appropriate, Snape swallowed and quietly recited the last line of the poem. 

"_And fear that every drop of rain might kill me..._" 


End file.
